583495793235

“Nope.”
“You’ll feel better once it’s out there.”
“No doubt, but the difficultly level is a little high.”
Zach looks over to me. “My parents only believe in three things: family, education, and
hard work. By ‘family’ I mean one man, one woman, two children, and a dog. By
‘education’ I mean a four-year college, and by ‘hard work’ I mean nothing involving art.
Or hopes. Or rockstar dreams.”
He looks back to Olly now and his brown eyes are more serious than before. “How am I
gonna tell them that their first-born son wants to be the African-American Freddie
Mercury?”
“They must suspect,” I say. “The rockstar part at least. Your hair is four different shades
of red.”
“They think it’s a phase.”
“Maybe you could write them a song.”
His laugh booms. “I like you,” he says.
“I like you, too,” I say back. “You could call the song ‘This Apple Has Fallen Very, Very,
Very Far from the Tree.’ ”
“I’m not even sure I’m an apple,” Zach says, laughing.
“You guys are funny,” Olly says, almost smiling, but obviously preoccupied. “Dude, let
me borrow your phone,” he says to Zach.
Zach hands it over and Olly immediately starts typing.
“What’s going on with you? Dad still a bastard?”
“You thought that would change?” He doesn’t look up from the phone.
“I guess not,” says Zach, a shrug in his voice. How much does he know about Olly’s
family? His dad is so much worse than just a bastard.
“What about you, Madeline? What’s wrong with your parents?”
“It’s just me and my mom.”
“Still. There must be something wrong with her.”
My mom, my mom. I’ve barely given her any thought. She must be crippled with worry.
“Well, I think there’s something wrong with everyone, don’t you? But my mom’s smart,
and she’s strong, and she always puts me first.”
I know I’ve surprised them because neither one speaks.
Olly looks up from Zach’s phone. “You have to tell her you’re OK, Mad.”
He hands me the phone and leaves for the restroom.
From: Madeline F. Whittier
To: genericuser033@gmail.com
Subject: (no subject)